


The Rise of a Star (Hung High in the Sky)

by kitsunez



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Arranged Marriage, Character Study, Consensual Infidelity, Family Issues, Gen, Moral Ambiguity, Narcissism, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Sexism, Philosophy, Racism, Religion, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding, allusions to incest, facism, semi-linear narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunez/pseuds/kitsunez
Summary: She was born to Druella Black, nee Rosier and Cygnus Black. The first of three sisters. The stars aligned. Magic was kind, blessed her to be great, to be powerful. Fate was cruel, cursed her with a destiny, with a rise and a fall, with a story that now will be told.A character study of Bellatrix Black.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange & Narcissa Black Malfoy & Andromeda Black Tonks, Bellatrix Black Lestrange & Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix Black Lestrange & Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black Lestrange & Voldemort
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	The Rise of a Star (Hung High in the Sky)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArtsyDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyDeath/gifts).

> I do not own Harry Potter, all rights to JK Rowling.  
I am not a native english speaker.  
Not beta read, may or may not be edited.  
DO NOT REPOST ON OTHER SITES OR APPS

_She was born to Druella Black, nee Rosier and Cygnus Black. The first of three sisters. The stars aligned. Magic was kind, blessed her to be great, to be powerful. Fate was cruel, cursed her with a destiny, with a rise and a fall, with a story that now will be told._

** _ Act i _ **

Lightning cut through the dark sky, the gentle pitter-patter of rain filling the night with noise. Druella Black was struggling with giving birth during this dark and stormy November night. She was praying to Magic to be kind, to have mercy, to bless her child with the ability to wield the gift of her people, to not make her faulty – being a disappointment to everything she believed in would be the punishment for her transgression, would be the death of her child. Cygnus was sitting by her side, a strong grip on her hand as sweat beaded at her forehead. He had faith, they were purebloods, they had done the rites, Magic looked upon them with her favour – it was the way of the world after all.

Bellatrix Black came into the world screaming. Named after a star, as was tradition in the most Noble and Ancient House of Black – a name for a female warrior. Fate was laughing – an ending was being set in stone. She was born under Mars glowing brightly, high in the sky. Some would call her lucky, none would call her kind. No one would look upon her past with kindness, with understanding. She was doomed from the start and what are we if not the monsters the world makes us out to be. While Magic was kind, Fate was cruel – it had always held disdain for those who would fight, for those who believed in change. 

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‘Dear, sweet little Bella,’ Druella thought, ‘is not a quiet child.’ This was the third night in a row she woke up from Bellatrix’s screaming. With a sigh and a fond smile, she made her way towards the nursery. She was greeted with the sight of a flailing house elf desperately trying to calm the crying toddler, “Useless creature, leave us.” The elf bowed and apparated away.

‘Hopefully to do something more productive,’ she sniffed before making her way towards the screaming child. “My sweet little Bellatrix, what ails you so,” She whispered into the dark, curly tuft of hair on top of her daughter’s head.

“My star, my flesh and blood, how can mother help you? How can father help ease your pain, your worries?” Bellatrix quieted down, wide grey eyes looking up at her mother with curiosity. She lifted her small hand and grabbed onto a white-blonde strand of her mother hair, gripping it tightly as she listened to her mother’s soothing words. “We love you so, little warrior, we know you will make us proud.”

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Cygnus had taken it hard, his first born being a daughter. Oh, but how he loved her so when he got to hold her for the first time. To feel her warmth through his shirt as he held her close to his chest. ‘It’s no matter,’ he thought starstruck as he felt the soft tuft of dark hair on Bellatrix’s head, ‘there is still time for an heir, for now I have my daughter, my little warrior.’ He looked over at his exhausted wife with a fond smile.

“Look at what we have made,” he said proudly, “our perfect little daughter.”

** _ Act ii _ **

At three months old, Bellatrix had her first occasion of accidental magic. It happened during one of her infamous temper tantrums, the room was left looking like a hurricane had passed through it. “We must deal with this, Druella. She can’t keep acting like this. It is not becoming of a lady of her station,” Cygnus had whispered at the aftermath of one of them just a couple of days earlier.

“Oh, come now Cygnus, she is just a child, a mere toddler. She will grow out of it; I swear it’s those cursed creatures. If they knew how to take care of a child there wouldn’t even be a problem.” Cygnus had sighed but conceded. The elves would be punished again for their transgressions and maybe there would be some calm for the next couple of days.

There was to be held a feast, a celebration for the youngest lady of the House of Black. She was now officially to be introduced as such; she had proven herself to be worthy of such a title. The house was in flurry of activity, house elves cooking, cleaning and sending off invitations by owl. ‘Such a wonderful occasion to have the young missus ease master’s worries,’ was the thought going through the elves’ minds. It was like a weight had dropped from the Master and Madame Black’s shoulders. A worry that had been kept at the backburner of their minds, an uneasiness that was seeped deep in their bones. All gone. Within an instant.

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The feast went well, Bellatrix showed remarkable promise for magic. Even going as far as showing more accidental magic at the party. Sitting prettily in a white gown, making sparks fly between her palms for her own amusement, even letting one spark land on an unsuspecting house elf – who shrieked in pain before apparating away with its duties finished. The grownups laughed at the child’s antics. “That’s right Bellatrix show the vermin their place,” was common for her to hear from that point on. Her mother sneakily graced her with gentle pats on her head. Wide grey eyes staring up at her beautiful mother with wonderment, a warmth rushing through her at the contact.

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Bellatrix was placed on the floor; five objects placed a couple of metres in front of her. Wide eyes looking up at her father as he set her down. “We will now begin with the deciding of talents,” Cygnus said primly. The room quieted down, not even a hushed whisper to be heard. The purebloods tended to have different objects, family values and all that. The Black family valued power, Magic was worth everything. It is what made them better, what made them Stars. Magical prowess was represented as a gently glowing phoenix feather. Phoenixes who had power - sun creatures, blessed by the magic of the sun to live on eternally. Immortality, in all its glory, for all its unreachability, was the ultimate statement of power. The second item laid out was the hide of a hidebehind creature. The hide represented the metamorphmagus ability that the Black family boasted – they hadn’t had one of those for decades now. The hidebehind, a vicious creature able to hide in any circumstance was the perfect way to represent the more refined version that the wizarding ability was. The third item, a crystal ball giving of an ethereal glow. A gift from a great seer – too long ago to remember the history of it – to represent the clairvoyance ability. The fourth object was a werewolf tooth to represent the animagus ability – an animalistic shifter, albeit a filthy one, to represent the wizards’ control over their inner animal. Lastly, the eye of a vampire to represent the ability of a natural legilimens.

Bellatrix lifted her little hand. Her fate was sealed in stone. Fate laughed; Magic wept.

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When Bellatrix was two years old, she was blessed with a little sister. At first, she was angry – jealous – her parents weren’t paying her any attention anymore. The elves found themselves being targeted more often than before. Pain and suffering following in Bellatrix’s wake. ‘Not even that could get them to even look at me,’ she thought petulantly. It went away quickly enough – she only ever threw tantrums when she knew she wouldn’t be punished, when she knew she could gain something – it didn’t mean that she always would. Bellatrix was nothing if not a quick learner, the first time was lenient, the second was cruel. She learned that cruelty sticks, no matter the species – no matter if you believed yourself above the gods, being one with the stars. Her mother loved her little sister – little Andromeda, Andy. Another star hung in the sky – Fate had yet to set her story into stone. Her father adored Andromeda. Being surrounded by the love her parents felt for her sister made it stick.

(‘Family above all,’ She would think bitterly all those years later.)

The Blacks valued power, there is strength in numbers, family first, family above all.

_Tojours pur_.

So, she would come to love her new sister with all her heart. With all her mother’s love, with all her father’s love. She would love her sister so much she felt ready to burst.

(Sometime later, she would wonder, if she ever had a choice at all.)

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Bellatrix turned four – little Andy turned two – they gained a new sister. One that resembled their mother more than them. It was easier to love her – she loved her mother, she did, she did, she did, **_she did_**. So, when she saw the white tuft of hair on Narcissa’s head – little Cissa – she knew it would be them. All three of them, against the world. Andromeda never had a problem with loving any of her sisters – they never talked about it. Bellatrix was good at hiding, better than her family would think. ‘Weakness,’ she learned, ‘lays in those who underestimate us.’

She would protect her family, she would, she would, shewouldshewouldshewould, **_she would._**

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When she turned seven, she first heard about Grindelwald’s crusade. Control over the muggles. “Of course,” her father would say as he read the Daily Prophet. “As is our right, he should focus on taking the mudbloods down with them.” Bellatrix agreed. Of course, she would, she had heard all about the terrible things the dirty muggles did. Scorning nature, their gods and Magic itself. How many of her noble kind had fallen to the cockroaches, who feasted upon their corpses, how many of her people were forced into hiding when muggles decided that co-existing no longer was good enough. The witch burnings, the trials, the cruelty towards their own kind. She knew it all. ‘Filthy creatures deserve everything that comes for them,’ she would think with satisfaction. Her father hated them; her mother held a burning disdain. Bellatrix reserved their own circle in hell for them. Of course, she would, they threatened her family, her own existence. They were many that was their only advantage, her kind had magic on their side. They were superior, gods to the vermin beneath their feet. Looking down on them benevolently as they obliviously continued to live their lives. ‘But not for much longer,’ she thought giddily. ‘Grindelwald might rid us all of them for us, if not their own internal war does it.’

There was even talk about a Lord of their own. An older student that her father looked up to. ‘Cygnus, a star of his own looking up to someone else,’ she thought with vehement wonderment. ‘Must be some type of god.’ Fledgling loyalty already being formed, trickling over from her father like a warm caress. “Blacks do not follow, but they know when there is a cause worthy of fighting for,” he said. Narcissa was too young to understand, Andromeda too new to the world to really know what her father was pointing to. Bellatrix on the other hand, oh she knew. There was a war coming, her blood sang, magic zinging through her body like electricity, pulsing under her skin to the beat of her heart. She would get to fight for the future her ancestor had dreamed of, having a legacy was in her blood, she was destined for greatness.

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At the age of ten Bellatrix met the mysterious rising Dark Lord of Great Britain. His name was Voldemort, Lord Voldemort. And he was very handsome. He had a smooth gait, a smooth voice, he walked like a predator ready to strike. ‘Is this love?’ Bellatrix thought. Lord Voldemort reeked of death, of dark magic. The headiness of it already more addicting than the few spells she had tried, more than the not-so-accidental magic she could create between her palms. She had learned early that she had a talent of sorts. She could, kind of, sort of, know what people were thinking. It wasn’t like she tried, peoples’ thoughts were just so loud, and their emotions would sometimes bleed over to her – like ink would bleed when water dripped onto the parchment words were written upon. She had better control over it now than before, she could separate herself – sometimes it still felt like too much, like she was going to burst, like just staying away and sleeping forever would be more of a kindness than living like this. Bellatrix pretended that this weakness didn’t exist, it was a strength. She would make sure of it.

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Voldemort could feel it. The gentle, almost feathery sensation of something brushing against his mind. His magic snapped to attention, following the wispy strands of mind magic. His eyes settled on a little girl who couldn’t be more than ten years old. He doubted she was trained, but caution was always preferred – he did not look her in the eyes. The child was tall for her age, what he assumed was riotous black curls were twisted into braids that looked ready to burst at any moment. She was strong, she had potential. He would just have to nurture it, to ensure that she would grow into something strong, something that was better. She had the potential to reach for divinity, she just needed the right teacher, the right motivation.

It was decided then. The wheels of Fate kept spinning without a hitch. Those who were unfortunate would not get to write their own destiny. Two people with hands chained to Fate – with gifts blessed by Magic, with grand ideas to write history. Who believed destiny was in their hands; Mars glowed bright red.

** _ Act iii _ **

Receiving her Hogwarts letter was nothing but expected to Bellatrix. What surprised her, however, was the letter she received from her father’s Lord; a request to stay in touch, to see each other again. A promise of power. She had received brief instructions and many books from Lord Voldemort during his weeklong stay at the manor. He would travel, search for magic that had been untouched for centuries, find more power to manage to reach his goals – their goals. He had promised her greatness. He had seen the potential in her, her magic was strong, her natural aptitude for legilimency would be useful – he saw something of himself in her, ‘if only,’ he thought – not bitterly, no, life had been unkind but he was better for it - ‘I was born under different circumstances.’

She would be great; was what she had decided – what was decided for her. She would rise above everyone, it was in her legacy, in her blood. But she wouldn’t have to do it alone. A burden was lifted from her shoulders – she never asked for this a voice cried in her head – he had seen her. She wasn’t just another broodmare to be married off to the best bidding pureblood. She wasn’t just a Lady of the house of Black. She had a destiny, a purpose. She was a warrior.

_And he could see her._

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The visit to Diagon Alley went as well as it could be expected. Her wand “Twelve and three quarters inches walnut and dragon heart string” Ollivander said, the wand was warm in her hand. Magic thrummed through her veins. “Magic has been kind.” Bellatrix was proud, her wand was strong, it suited her well. ‘Only the best for the House of Black,’ she thought satisfied. ‘Of course, Magic looked upon her with favour, she was a Black, the first born, named to be a warrior.’ Walnut, rigid, wood a rich and polished brown. Connected to the sun, of the fire element. “A good match for your bad temper,” he had said with a knowing look. Bellatrix slammed the gates to her mind shut. The dragon heartstring, also of fire was worth to mention, for passion, loyalty – family above all – and strong magic. “All in all, a flexible wand suited for most magic, although you might feel a penchant for jinxes and curses. You are destined for greatness; the stars have made it so.”

She left the shop with mixed feelings. Ollivander was hard to read, but she knew that he hadn’t spoken the whole truth, he held something back. His milky white gaze was unsettling, to say the least.

** _ Act iv _ **

Hogwarts was more than what she expected. It was grander, the very air hummed with magic and the castle itself seemed to have its own awareness. It was simply, more. Everything about it was absolutely wonderful. She could see why her parents – why her Lord – looked upon their memories with such fondness. The air was saturated with magic, the castle’s own consciousness reaching out to greet her – her mind, her soul. Bellatrix quickly checked her occlumency shields to ensure that she did not let other’s emotions bleed through to her – she wanted this memory to be entirely hers. There were filthy mudbloods present, it wouldn’t do to let their sort mingle with her mind. She wanted to spit about stolen magic, about how they didn’t deserve the gifts bestowed upon them, how they were ruining the rituals that kept Mother Magic alive. But she held her stoic silence as was expected of her. It wouldn’t do to draw too much attention to her before the sorting.

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The sorting hat barely touched her head before it shouted SLYTHERIN, as expected – ‘poor child,’ the hat thought, if only was made for the benefit of the children, if only it could sort the children to the house that they need the most. It was not the hat’s job, its job is to sort based on personality traits, not the lack of them. Bellatrix Black sat down, near the second years but still amongst the first years, with pride. The wheels of fate never grinding to a stop. The rest of the feast went by in a haze for Bellatrix, the magic in the air – and people, so so so many people just being around, loudly chattering – put Bellatrix in a trance like state – she almost felt like she was floating, head filled with cotton – not enough to not sneer at Headmaster Dumbledore’s speech though.

Bellatrix shared her room with two others - ‘one of them a halfblood,’ she sneered to herself, ‘this will not be a pleasant experience for the halfie’ – so far she had been shown the respect that the Black family name deserved, but Bella wanted more. She would of course, ensure that the respect people held for her would not rely on her surname.

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The halfie – Bella refused to remember her name, her surname was a muggle one ‘how plebeian,’ she thought – always bowed to Bella’s whims, ‘no spine in that one, as it should be,’ she huffed to herself. For some reason it annoyed her, ‘this little halfie, existing, doing nothing to try and earn her right to magic,’ was driving Bellatrix up the walls and so Bella decided that she would suffer. It was frustratingly simple, almost boring, to break the girl. She just decided that she would pretend that the halfie didn’t exist, the rest of the Slytherins immediately followed her lead, Melanie – Mel to her friends, ‘her friends who weren’t friends now were they, because they followed Bellatrix Black’s lead,’ she would think, ‘loyalty, the hat said was also part of Slytherin. But it seems like loyalty only goes so far.’ Bitterness lacing her thoughts. – Something or another, Bellatrix never really bothered with names, unless it was useful stopped speaking, unless spoken to first, after Bellatrix forced her previous friends to practice the cutting curse on her. It wasn’t hard, no one wants to be in the bad books of a Black, that’s how far their influence went. Bellatrix became known for her ruthlessness.

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Winter break came with a promise to meet with her Lord and take part in a ritual for the new year. A way to increase her bond to magic and ensure success in their endeavour in saving the magical community, “a gift,” he said, looking upon Bellatrix expectantly.

Bellatrix almost vibrated with excitement, her first real ritual – one of blood, bones and soul. They began immediately, cutting her wrist, letting blood drip into a small vial – that would be left in the light of the moon for three days, to infuse it with its power. Her blood was needed to bind the ritual to herself, her Lord would do his separately from her – he was only there to supervise after all. She would have to gather a sacrifice, something of worth to her – the more sentimental value or the more value Magic put into a being the bigger effect the ritual would have, ‘a mudblood would have been ideal,’ Bellatrix thought, but her Lord had advised against it as she was still so young. Being surrounded by so much darkness – corrupted magic, this was not the will of Magic, the humans always put too much sentience into the creature magic was. As long as people believed it was enough, Magic was pure power, no black or white or shades of grey within it. It existed and that was it, but for humans with morals, with an inherent sense of right and wrong (even if just for survival) could feel the consequences by accessing power that only existed to hurt others, this would be deemed black magic madness – at such a young age could be detrimental to a child’s development.

Bellatrix ended up sacrificing Narcissa’s favourite stuffed animal. Soaking it in her blood and burning it to ashes.

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Year one passed quickly and without a hitch. Melanie would not return for her second year. Bellatrix felt proud. Her Lord berated her for it, halfbloods were still needed, the magical population was small after all, Bellatrix nodded along despite not agreeing. Her Lord was right, but that didn’t mean that she wanted dirty blooded people in her vicinity.

The summer passed by in a haze of magic, Bellatrix arsenal of dark rated spells was growing slowly, but steadily. Her Lord was feeding her all the information she needed to grow her power, to develop but left her to experiment with the practical side of it on her own – and to deal with the consequences of failure on her own too. It made Bellatrix feel proud – despite the pain and suffering she knew could be avoided if he had been there to help her – he trusted her to succeed, he believed in her.

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The second year came with Andromeda entering her first – Slytherin of course, as expected. The year passed quickly, Bellatrix was too focused on ensuring that her sister was comfortable and got what she needed to terrorize the rest of the students too much. People still suffered whenever they made degrading comments – they didn’t think she would hear about – about her or her family. Especially when they doubted her prowess – “she’s just good at theory, at studying, she must practise a lot and research what to do beforehand during the classes to be able to get the spell right in class, she’s just a girl after all.” – Just a girl, Bellatrix showed them what ‘just a girl’ could do.

The teachers were suspicious, most grown-ups could sense something lurking in Bellatrix – most of them explained it away with prejudice, it was easier to just look the other way. It wasn’t like they could make any consequences stick after all the Black family held too much influence over everything - everyone. Unlike Voldemort, Bellatrix did not care too much for her reputation – she wanted to be known as powerful and ruthless but that was it, she cared nothing for politics as she could get her way with fear, always – it was something he would ponder upon form time to time. Something he wanted to teach her, but he knew it wouldn’t stick so he would just sigh and move to another lesson instead. He was somewhat bitter about it he supposed, Bellatrix would never know about the consequences of her actions, would never know how to be careful – but he knew she was good at hiding things when needed, an impressive liar and manipulator. She just needed the right incentive – it was unfortunate how privilege also robbed you of so many life lessons.

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Year three hit hard. There was talk of marriage. Bellatrix was angry, so very incredibly angry – her Lord was throwing her to the wolves. He hadn’t made any indication that he was stopping her family’s plans despite all her (not so ladylike) complaining – “whining,” he would say.

“I will not let them take my apprentice from me,” he explained the day before she would leave for Hogwarts, “but sometimes you will have to do things to appease the purebloods too.” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. Bellatrix would reluctantly accept this, she had faith that her Lord would either find a way out for her or ensure that whatever useless husband she was bound to end up with would not stand in the way.

Her anger spiked again when the Black scion was placed in Gryffindor.

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Year four introduced Narcissa to Hogwarts. Bellatrix was once again too busy with fussing over her sisters to punish the school for their wrong doings. She was known for her ruthlessness and power now – after selling secrets the seventh years held to their, perceived, enemies, thoughts were just so easy to pluck out of their heads. She was seen as an exception to the woman rule, people just, decided to not think about her gender – it was less painful that way – it also certainly helped that she wasn’t very lady like, despite following the womanly dress code the Blacks were known for – hair looking ready to explode in their elaborate braids.

Narcissa was more affectionate than Andromeda, was struggling more to adapting to not being at home – quiet, ladylike and shy. Andromeda was more independent than Narcissa but not as ice cold as Bellatrix, and in-between of both her sisters, preferring words but not afraid to take actions unlike Narcissa who’s soft spoken words often ensured that no action was needed to be taken – and so very far away from Bellatrix using her words to ensure that action has to be taken. The three sisters spent most of their time together, Bellatrix guarding them like a feral dog – ‘oh, how ironic this was,’ Andromeda would think to herself when the war was over – to both her sisters’ irritation, but they let it be. This was how Bellatrix showed that she cared and rejecting her affection would come with consequences – they were careful, oh so careful, around their oldest sister. There was always something lurking on the edges of their minds, telling them that Bellatrix was a predator and if she didn’t see them as family, they would be prey.

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Year five came with many discoveries, her Lord had started her training in the true dark magic. The magic she had only ever been allowed to read of – she had talent for spells that caused pain, Lord Voldemort would observe, with something aching to affection in his eyes. Bellatrix would only be incredibly proud. The addicting feeling of power flowing through her when she used the Cruciatus curse – she felt like she was swept up by the tide, dragged along the stars, gazing upon God and being judged for all her actions, one with Magic and one with all, maybe even being God herself – could only be compared to the silence that followed after it. For once, she could relax and her head – her feelings, her emotions, her very being would be only herself – was empty. She was in complete control of her own head – she felt serene for once – ‘this is almost more addicting than feeling powerful,’ she would secretly think to herself.

Year five came with a lot of pain for many students.

Lucius Malfoy spent a lot of time with the Black sisters – despite being in a year above Bellatrix. He mostly was around Andromeda or Narcissa, taking them under his wings whilst Bellatrix was off terrorizing the rest of the school or lounging on one of the chairs like a cat lazily watching prey – she looked like a queen always and he feared her. There was talk of marriage between him and one of the younger sisters, this was the only reason for Bellatrix tolerating him – “spineless bastard,” she would spit at him with a large grin only to watch him flinch.

Yes, Lucius Malfoy feared Bellatrix Black, because unlike his fellow students who saw her as a lady – albeit a ruthless and powerful one, still a woman, and women are not more powerful than men. They could squish her like a bug, of course, only that she is a woman and we do not hurt women – Lucius saw her for what she was, he saw the was his future Lord favoured her. And there was no way on this god forsaken planet that he would see it as something that it wasn’t. Bellatrix was powerful – maybe despite of her gender or maybe because of it but powerful nonetheless – and he would be damned if he ever did anything that would turn her – and him, his Lord – against him.

Sirius Black hated and admired Bellatrix Black. She stood for everything he hated and wanted to achieve simultaneously – she was free and did what she wanted, but she was dark and practised dark magic and hated muggles and was just like the rest of his family in a sense. Cold and cruel and he did not want to be like that. In the beginning he did everything to spite his family, he defended muggles and muggleborns, spent time with them in Hogwarts, cared about pranks and general chaos more than politics and acting like a pureblood. Most of the time he started new interests to rile up his parents – he refused to be like them, to be boring, to live life on a leash. He wanted to be free – but most of the time he ended up enjoying whatever interest he had taken up. When he was young, Uncle Alphard had told him – shown him in a sense – that life was more than just doing what you were told. That you could live without living, and such an existence was more painful than anything anyone could ever inflict on him. He had given Sirius ice cream and for once he felt light and relaxed. With Alphard Black, Sirius had no responsibilities and no expectations placed on his shoulders. To Alphard Black, Sirius was a person, his nephew that he loved so very much – but he was a coward and selfish, of course he was, he didn’t want to limit his freedom by pissing of the main branch of the family, so he left Sirius with them – love would only take you so far and Alphard had long ago rejected ‘Family above all’.

For the first time Sirius saw his parents, saw the leashes tied around their necks that they didn’t even think existed. Living up to what everyone expected of them, holding leashes of other people in their hands without care of consequences. Not even trying to understand the impact they had on others. And yes, maybe Sirius didn’t understand either, but at least he could try – maybe he never would understand how it was to live without money, without status and popularity. But he could understand neglect and abuse, he could understand being caged with freedom out of reach – in the end wasn’t that what all their struggles broke down to? Maybe he was naïve but at least he could try. And so he would, he would reach for the glimpse of freedom he so dearly wanted and he would free as many people as he could with him.

It made him a bit sad, because despite everything – all the hatred, all the pain – Bellatrix was powerful, and she should have been free. She could have been great, if only her wings weren’t clipped before she even knew she could fly.

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Year six came with turmoil. Her duty to her family fighting with her duty to her beliefs, to staying true to herself. Andromeda was secretly meeting up with a boy, a Ted Tonks – ‘a mudblood,’ her mind would spit venomously – from Hufflepuff. She would stay silent, she had decided, ‘for now’. It was a rebellious faze that her sister would get over, she knew better than that. And who knows, maybe Andromeda was playing with him. ‘But,’ a small voice – the annoying one, the one who always crushed whatever naïve picture she tried to build in her head, the one who always take off her rose tinted glasses – ‘you know that isn’t true, you have always known that Andromeda cares more for her freedom than for her family values.’

Andromeda had a lot in common with both Sirius and Alphard, and in meeting Ted, she had realised that her wings were clipped and whatever illusion of freedom she thought she had was a lie. She would never be free no, maybe she was too bitter to ever believe in freedom after coming to this conclusion, after feeling this betrayal. But at least, maybe she could gain enough freedom to not be a shadow anymore, to maybe possibly, start living. ‘I was hasty,’ her older self would think, ‘I was young and naïve, and I felt betrayed. I never even thought about trying to change my sisters’ minds. Bellatrix who always acted as our parents, who was older and probably already had come to this conclusion somehow. Who I was so sure about would never change her mind. It was just easier to abandon them.’ And in that, she was more similar to Alphard than Sirius ever could be.

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Year seven was the beginning of the end, in more ways than one. ‘This,’ Severus Snape would think, ‘was the beginning of Bellatrix Black’s fall.’

Severus Snape was cautious, especially when it came to Bellatrix Black. She was cruel, ruthless and volatile – he thought that the word ‘unstable’ probably was a better choice of words, or perhaps, ‘potentially unstable’ was more accurate. Severus stayed out of her way, for the most part – only existing in the peripheral of her universe – but still close enough as she held influence. In a way she probably was his first master. ‘Get the approval of the purebloods,’ was his first leash – ‘chain,’ he would think, ‘heavy, heavy chains, cruelly binding him to people to manage to stay alive.’

It was probably one of his greatest flaws, something he hated the most about himself, his incredibly strong will to live. He got sorted into Slytherin because of his ambition, – ‘I want to be powerful. I want to be able to prove myself,’ – his cleverness and his survival instincts – as motivation. He hid in the shadows, letting his usefulness be what people noticed – he was good at learning, especially duelling and potions. He let people use his knowledge to protect himself, to not be alone, for survival. Most of the time he felt like an insect looking up, up, up and up. And at the top there was Bellatrix looking down on the rest of them, grinning her predatory grin. Bellatrix did not associate with halfbloods, not even to use them, so there was minimal interaction between them – because of Lucius, of course Lucius had to interact with the harpy and because they had a mutually beneficial relationship, he would at times be forced to stay around her.

Often, he would feel like a deer in headlights when she was around. Bellatrix was everything he hated. She was rich, popular – even if it was infamy, powerful in many ways and – to him – no one held power over her. Later he would learn that everyone had someone that held power over them and Bellatrix, well it was just sad how Bellatrix held her own chains so tight around her throat that she almost asphyxiated to death, and she didn’t even notice it. But right now, Bellatrix held a lot of power and he was envious.

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Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange did not ponder much upon Bellatrix Black – until it was announced that Rodolphus and Bellatrix were to be married. Bellatrix was a fifth year when they had graduated, their paths did not cross often. The rumours were that Bellatrix was a ruthless and powerful woman and she held favour with their Lord. Rodolphus and Bellatrix arranged a meeting before beginning their courtship – they made an agreement immediately – and Rodolphus and Rabastan thought that they always could have ended up with someone worse.

Lord Voldemort held no illusions of who Bellatrix was. She was immature, unstable, vengeful and sadistic on the best of days. Despite this he found himself so incredibly fond of her. He had not spent a lot of his time around her as she grew up, the rigorous training started in her sixth year of Hogwarts. Before that they had mostly spent time building her occlumency barriers. This was what had drawn him in in the first place. Bellatrix Black needed occlumency shields, not to keep others out but to keep herself in. It was strange to see someone – a child, really – almost half mad already. No real sense of self, a cracked mind almost ready to shatter. He had felt her power, known that she had potential so he decided that he would help her – her family was powerful too, getting on their good side wouldn’t hurt either. Lord Voldemort had picked one of his more recently recruited Death eaters, someone with great loyalty and belief in his cause, as a suggestion to Cygnus to marry his eldest daughter. Lord Voldemort saw no need to chain down his most promising follower to chain herself down to someone that was lesser than her – if she was not the equivalent of magic trapped in flesh and blood he would give up on world domination entirely. But some traditions were good to keep alive, to appease the families that went back generations and held so much influence over society that it almost was disgusting.

Sometimes he wondered if he shouldn’t just burn it all down to the ground instead. He could rule over chaos with Bellatrix by his side.

‘How ironic,’ Fate thought, ‘that this is exactly how it would end up being.’

** _ Act v _ **

She would do her duty, as promised to her father. For once her unruly hair was left to curl wildly atop her head, her dress a simple sheet of white fabric. Rituals cared not for appearance and as it just was her and her husband-to-be Magic would deem the transgression whatever societal transgressions, she made acceptable. Mother had wanted a wedding of the more modern standards; a ball and simple binding magics to be performed. Bellatrix refused. “Absolutely not,” she said, her voice cold and filled with disdain as she looked down on her mother. “I will do this according to old traditions, bound by blood, magic and our very souls,” she sniffed. “I even have the perfect ritual in mind.” The argument ended at that. It had been gradual, this distrust – it wasn’t distrust, no she refused to believe it; it was more like growing apart yes, she had a right to be angry, she didn’t want this – towards her family. Sometimes she felt like she was being torn apart, instincts screaming at her for abandoning everything she had ever believed in – ‘but I’m not,’ a small voice in her head argued, ‘I just need some space, some time away.’ She loves them. She does, with all her heart, she was loyal to them she would swear it on her heart, on her soul, on her magic. But why was it then, that she could no longer trust them?

The ritual was a simple one, binding with blood sacrifice – a slit down her palm, blood dripping, dripping, dripping down – a bonfire and burning sage. Promises – vows – made to each other, to be each other’s strength, to always have the others best interest in mind – like partners in crime. She drank from the cup made from bone, the taste of copper in her mouth, letting the magic of the ritual flow through her mind, mingle with her magic. A bond snapped in place. Being married to Rodolphus was no chore – as easy going as he was, they agreed upon no children until later, no, they both had other plans. Sometimes, Bellatrix would think about the easy friendship, the instinctual understanding she had of her husband – maybe she was lucky after all. It was strange, but she didn’t dwell too much on it, Rodolphus tastes did, after all, not lie with women – they hade made a deal of sorts, it was deliberately that they did not include fidelity in their vows. ‘Wasn’t it strange how close Rodolphus and Rabastan were?’ Bellatrix would muse, but she looked the other way, it was none of her business after all.

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Her parents were happy and proud, that was the important part, Andromeda was hiding her unease and Narcissa – dear sweet Narcissa, did not know any better yet. She believed in happy endings, in the power of dedication to duty. Bellatrix caught a flash of red eyes as she looked out on the ballroom, she let a coy smile curl on her lips as she turned to her husband. Rodolphus was quietly conversing with his brother but turned to his wife as soon as Bellatrix touched his arm, he looked into her eyes – brown, so very brown; a colour to drown in. He nodded his assent to the quiet communication. A dull headache throbbing painfully. They rose together and made their way towards her father’s study.

Their Lord had already made his way there. Rodolphus – and Rabastan – would never stop marvelling at the magnetism that their Lord held. How he was like the sun, and Bellatrix was a comet orbiting around him, the only one managing to get close without burning to nothing, without being pulled into him and destroying herself. It was a never-ending amusement to see the way they circled each other, to see the smallest hint of affection from their stoic leader, a softness that existed only for her. Bellatrix immediately stepped forward, extending her left wrist eagerly – he had promised, after all, she was his in all the ways that would matter to them – having a bond would only strengthen that. Lord Voldemort did after all always enjoy marking what was his.

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Andromeda had grown up. She had changed in ways she never believed her family would fathom. For the better, she would tell herself, always for the better. She had learned of kindness, extended to her from a muggleborn – Ted, his name was Ted and oh how she loved him. He would feed her curiosity – Andromeda had after all always been too empathetic, too curious, too ready to change the way she viewed the world for her parents liking. She had grown up with same values as Bellatrix, the same strictness, but where Bellatrix had given in – ‘not given in, no,’ Andromeda would ponder upon, for some reason Bellatrix Black just loved her family enough to not question them, not because she lacked the ability but it was just simpler for her to not do it, to go with their whims. ‘This was what they had in common,’ she would think bitterly. This overly romantic worldview, this philosophy that was black and white – Bellatrix would never admit it, never admit to her faults but they both knew that while her morals were skewed, her worldview was as rigid as Andromedas. And it wasn’t like the Dark Lords philosophy motivated her to change – he had chosen her, why would she need to change when she had all she wanted in front of her?

Andromeda was graduating and she had grown up, she had made up her mind. She would not be Bellatrix – no matter how much they looked alike, “you could be twins,” people would exclaim. They were not the same, Andromeda had always lived in books – fiction unlike Bella and her quest for power through knowledge. Fiction had taught her many things her parents did not, it taught her love, kindness, mercy, socially acceptable morals. Maybe she was a fool, as the years passed by, as she grew old without Bella by her side. She would be able to admit it, she had been foolish by demonising her sister, by making her a monster when maybe – just maybe – she could have saved her. She would always remember the last time she saw Bella’s face – the person that had taken her sisters place after she left would never be her sister, her Bella – when she had made her choice. She had looked like someone had ripped her heart out, like she was a dead person walking. Bellatrix had always fancied herself something better – Andromeda hated it, “Bella haven’t you heard have the gods strike you down for hubris,” she would say.

“The gods won’t strike me, silly. We are the same after all,” was always the answer. “You read too much made by muggles, don’t let what they think corrupt you, the gods won’t strike their own,” she chided, always kindly, always playfully. Bellatrix may hate the muggles – may think of them as vermin to step on – but her sister was happy, their books made her happy. She would look the other way, for now.

When Andromeda first started talking to Ted Tonks it was to trade books. She would give him pointers and facts of the wizarding world, of their culture, their heritage, and he would bring her books. Muggle fiction was more fascinating than anything a Wizard or Witch had ever written. There were only so much to write about when science fiction wasn’t part of the vocabulary, and fantasy was part of reality. At first, Bellatrix looked the other way, it was innocent, her sister was happy, that was what mattered – ‘family above all,’ she would think reverently. When Andromeda and Ted became friends, the scolding started, a rift was created. “Think of our family Andromeda,” she would plead. “Don’t be selfish, remember our history,” they argued a lot. Andromeda doubted her family’s love – this wasn’t love, love was freedom, exhilaration, unconditional – she was young, if she just had been that little bit wiser, with hindsight she could see that Bella never stopped loving her. Her sister always tried to protect her. Sometimes later she would blame herself, the guilt would eat her up, maybe if she hadn’t lived with her head in her books, maybe – just maybe – she could have saved her sister; she could have saved so many people. Hindsight always make things so much clearer.

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Andromeda ran away. She was pregnant with a half blood bastard. She would marry her precious mudblood fairytale prince. Andromeda would spit on everything Bellatrix believed in, “you are wrong, they are better than us, they have more compassion than you have ever showed me,” Andromedas voice still echoed in her head. “I’d rather be free and slaughtered like a pig than live like this.”

“You fancy yourself a martyr Andromeda? A victim, poor Andromeda a damsel in distress, a hero in hiding with a quest to save the world, her evil family a blight on her pure soul,” Bellatrix spat back. “Don’t be foolish, don’t be ignorant of everything you are turning your back on. We are on the verge of change –“

“We’re on the verge of war Bella!”

“When has change ever come peacefully Andromeda? Do you think people will just roll over from their own comfort, your precious Dumbledore has done nothing to help us. Can’t you see how we are a dying race? We may be the closest things to gods on this planet, but we are still mortal, our goal is survival.”

“At what cost? Do you know how many are dying, purebloods and others? What good is change if no one will live to see it.” There was desperation in Andromeda’s eyes. 

“We will see wont we, Andromeda? The world needs to wake up, one way or another, what are lives lost in the face of the greater good?” Bellatrix would say, a glint in her eyes. Words cutting through Andromeda in ways she didn’t think was possible. And oh, how ironic that Bellatrix – that the Dark Lord and all his followers believed that they were doing the right thing, that they were spitting the same words – using the same justifications for sacrifice, for war and pain – as the ones they were fighting against.

A part of Bellatrix shattered, if she couldn’t trust her family, who could she trust? Who would betray her next? What more of her entire existence was a lie? It was getting hard to separate herself – her own mind was attacking her – from others. People just bled into her – her mind, her beautiful mind kept cracking and cracking and cracking like glass. She couldn’t make it stop, couldn’t make them go away. Violence made it bearable. Hurting people to make them feel her pain made dealing with it easier. Andromeda had called them monsters – she had called her a monster, (I love you, I love you, I love you, why are you leaving me? Come back to me. Family above all, remember? I would give anything for you, just don’t leave me) - Andromeda never turned back.

The raids turned more violent, Bellatrix became better, something else entirely. She lived and breathed violence, was only sated by blood on her hands. Rumours about the Dark Lords hound circulated, there was nothing as exquisite as the fear she could make people feel.

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The years seemed to pass quickly, bloodbath after bloodbath, Bellatrix kept slaughtering people – muggles, magicals, anyone standing against them. It was less about the principles now, at some point she lost herself – her rock, the one who held her sanity, was slowly losing his too. He gave her a piece of his soul, a show of trust to his most loyal follower – to someone that was his. She almost cried, but held herself back, and only grinned at him. “My lord it’s an honour, I will protect it with my life.” And she did. She placed it in her vault, ensured that there was no way – her plan was fool proof, if someone managed to steal from Gringotts, they would die before they got out of her vault. Her loyalty was settled – she would settle for nothing less than mutual respect; she had learned to never assume that anything was mutual again – in a sense her beloved sister had ensured it.

Her sister – she only had one now – married a Malfoy. There was a special type of disdain she held for the Malfoy family, but she kept it to herself. Her sister was happy, and soon she would have a son, that was all that mattered – ‘family above all,’ she thought bitterly.

When Draco was born, Bellatrix cooed at the ugly little child. Crooning sweet nothings, about how she would show him – “Aunt Bella will always love you, there is always family above all.” – Narcissa was exhausted. She had seen Bella’s downwards spiral, it had left her sister colder, a sharpness to her that had always existed but never was as prominent, as cruel as it was now. She wondered when Bellatrix’s strong beliefs would fail her again, would anything of her sister be left then? She feared this version of her, of this cruel version of her that would she turn on her she wouldn’t be able to defend herself – Bellatrix knew where to hit to make it hurt, knew where to make the killing blow. Narcissa never would guess that she would live the rest of her life fearing for the small family that she built for herself, her family by choice – her choices were limited but they were still hers to make, she would take what little freedom she could get. She was fearing that her own sister, her family by blood, would turn into her enemy. She pushed it to the back of her mind, always aware but never letting it consume her. It would not do to dwell on it – a small part of her knew that Bellatrix knew. Bellatrix continued to break. 

When the Dark Lord fell, she shattered again. Rodolphus and Rabastan – and Crouch of all people – fanatics, all of them. Their loyalty was all they had – to each other, to their Dark Lord – he had seen them, he had saved them in all the ways that mattered, given them power, the strength to choose their own paths, to carve their own destinies (Fate’s laughter echoed emptily). He wasn’t dead, she knew. And she would do anything to bring him back.

**_Final Act_**

She sat on the chair, chains and all – back straight like a rod, eyes half closed, a lazy grin on her lips – a beam of light looking like a halo – a crown – on her head. Her head tilted back, arms resting on the armrests, she looked like royalty – chains wrapped around her arms, her legs, her torso – she wore it like it was the finest of accessories. “She looks like a queen upon her throne,” people would whisper. “No remorse, no pleading for her actions. No, she preached about her loyalty. Talked about the Dark Lord like he hung the stars upon the sky, like he was her god. Eyes almost feverish, she had never looked more beautiful and frightening all at once. If we would take a guess this was the beginning of her descent, when she lost herself completely.”

In a way, they were right. Her belief in her Lord, her Saviour was all she had. She would follow him to the end of the world, would give her life for him without a thought. People may judge, may tell her that he would never return the failure, but she knew. He loved her as much as he could, and for her that was enough. He saved Her, showed her she could be more, gave her a future – for better or for worse. In a way, he had hung the stars in the sky to her, but she knew, he was no god, he was as painfully human as the rest of them. As human as she was, but there was a whisper of potential. He had taken advantage of it unlike so many others – had struggled through the path he had chosen for himself and come out the other end a winner. He had played the cards fate had handed him and he did it well, unlike so many others he managed to rise above and beyond the place he was born in. Never forget that the winners are the ones to write history. Morals are only as rigid as we believe them to be. But there is always a choice, and she had chosen him.

She was destined for greatness. She was a star.

But all stars fall.

We play the cards that have been handed to us.

In the end, we are what the world makes us out to be.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a work in progress for about 2 or 3 years. I decided to dedicate it to the lovely ArtsyDeath, who has inspired me to finally finish this. Thank you, for everything.
> 
> Comments are appreciated but not necessary.
> 
> This is MY take on the Harry Potter world, maybe a bit grittier than the books, maybe not. This is how I interpreted the characters and the way they function, think and see the world. You are more than welcome to have your own interpretations and I would be interested to hear about it if you want to share in the comments.
> 
> Might be a bit confusing, the POV switches quite a bit and the jumps between scenes are choppy, I left that in as I feel it enhances the way I want the story to sound. I hope you enjoyed reading this!


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